But such was not in the cards for me that day.
While taking Jordan for her morning walk around the block, she decided to poop in front of a neighbor's house, which is not the end of the world since I always pick up after her with a plastic bag, but I prefer she not do it directly in front of someone's house. But she did, and as she was pushin' one out, the neighbor's door opened and she and her 2 young boys came out of house. The mom reminded the boys that they had seem me the night before in the Lewes parade, but the 2 boys were riveted on Jordan's pooping. A bomb could have gone off and they wouldn't have noticed. With my plastic bag over my hand I leaned over to pick up the poop. But that b*tch cranked her head around and tried to eat her poop in front of the neighbors!
She got 1/2 of it in her mouth before I could yank her leash (I was bent over) and shout at her, all in front of the neighbor and her 2 young sons, in front of their house. The neighbor tried to distract the boys and told them to go ahead and jump in the car and buckle up, and I wished them a fun day at school. For the 1/8 of a second that I took my eyes off of Jordan to wave to the boys, she walked around in front of me and spit out the poop. Since she was in front of me I deduced that she was now ready to continue her walk, so I began to walk, and stepped right in the poop.
I tried to clean my shoe as best I could with the inside of the poop bag so I wouldn't track it all over the neighborhood, but it was of no use. I was so mad I practically dragged her home, cleaned my shoe, and told her she wasn't getting any milkbones because she tried to eat her poop. Trust me, she understands a lot more than she lets on.
So I start working and things are bad right away. A client wanted to change something minutes before their launch, which took place before my work day began. I get a handle on things, explain what can/can't be done now, etc. Then client #2 called while I'm still on the phone with client #1, and left a lengthy voice mail about how they've all but lost confidence that their program will go smoothly due to all the problems they've had. Because I'm unable to return the call right away, client #2 calls 2 of my colleagues and whines to them about it, blowing everything out of proportion and making me look bad. I literally spent 1/2 my day calming them down, gently explaining that everything was okay, and assuring them their event would be fine, etc.
Meanwhile, its now after 1:00 and I haven't eaten anything all day, and I get an email from Finance telling me I have until 3:00 to complete my part of a financial project. I estimate I just might be able to get it done in time if I don't stop to do anything else, like read/respond to emails, eat, or use the bathroom. I work as quickly and accurately as I possibly can and make it just under the deadline. Its now 3:00, I still haven't eaten, but I take a minute to go to the bathroom before jumping back on the phone with client #2 who'd already monopolized 1/2 my day. I finish with them at 4:00 and remind myself that the detail shop (where Big Ella is waiting, all clean and shiny) closes at 5:00 so I must get there before 5:00.
Spouse comes home and takes me over to the detail shop at 4:45. Big Ella looks tres fab and I go inside to pay. As I hand the guy my card I see that I have a spot on the front of my jacket. 'Hmm, what's this?' I wonder to myself. Oh... my... god. Its dog poop, on my jacket, as I'm trying to pay for Big Ella's wash-n-wax.
As I exit the detail shop I check the time and feel OK. I've got 1 hour to go home, grab a quick bite to eat, pick out a different jacket, put the batteries in the lighted wreath and attach it to Big Ella's grill, and get to the parade line-up spot. I should be fine.
I turn the key in the ignition and Big Ella cur-wurs a few times but doesn't start. I'm not panicking yet because cars built before electronic ignition usually take longer to start. I try again and the cur-wurs get slower and weaker. Now I'm starting to panic. The guys from the detail shop come out and we agree they'll connect their portable battery charger to my battery so I can get her started and not drain my battery. This still doesn't work. I realize that even if I get Big Ella started now with assistance, I won't be able to turn her off. Besides, I'd need to get more gas if I were to have her engine running for 2-3 hours, but I can't turn off the engine at the gas station with confidence that she'll start again. I try a couple more times to start her but she cur-wurs weakly and the detail shop guys shake their heads. It becomes clear that driving her in the parade is not going to happen.
I called Spouse who came and picked me up and continued to ask me questions like "What's the matter?" "Why won't she start?" "Is there any gas in there?" "Do you want to try and jump start her with my car?" "What do you think the problem is?" Trying hard to choke back my anger, frustration, and disappointment I calmly said "I don't know. I'm not a mechanic. We'll have to have her towed to a mechanic to find out what's wrong."
So my hope for a typical, 'normal' Mon at work with plenty of time to check Facebook and read emails, followed by a delightful time driving Big Ella in the Christmas parade went to hell in a hand basket.
The one thing I thought would make up for having such a horrible day was to drive Big Ella in that parade. Now the day appeared to have no hope of redemption what-so-ever. I was so thoroughly distraught I couldn't see straight.
It was unequivocally my worst birthday ever.
The only thing that 'saved' the day from being a complete and total disaster was my friends. Since I was supposed to be in the parade, I declined an invitation to join some friends for burgers, but Spouse had accepted. Now that I was suddenly 'available' I joined Spouse and the gang for burgers and conversation. We talked and laughed enough to coax me down from the ledge.Tues morning I called roadside assistance and arranged for a flatbed truck to carry Big Ella to the mechanic's shop. Hopefully it won't be too expensive.
Crush du Jour: Joe Cada